


Control

by HereToWrite



Series: A-Team AUs [5]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team (TV), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereToWrite/pseuds/HereToWrite
Summary: It’s a secret, that’s what Hannibal had told Face when he’d first taken him under his wing. Not classified, but a secret. A secret that Hannibal would keep silent and a secret only Face could decide when to share. No one else.Or Hannibal finds out about a dishonorable discharged Lieutenant that he’s determined to get back into the world.
Series: A-Team AUs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1162397
Comments: 15
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place pre-TV show, but borrows a bit here and there from the movie. Mostly in the second chapter.
> 
> Also, to avoid confusion this story is in no way tied to my BA mutant or Murdock mutant story...I just really like this AU

Hannibal flips through the file in his hands lazily. Gazing over the information, despite already knowing it by heart. 

Lieutenant Templeton Peck, it reads simply, age 21. Dishonorably discharged from the military for the manipulation of men and women within his area. Possesses the unique ability to control the minds of others, which he used to pull a number of cons and crimes during his time abroad. This ability, the file continues to explain, has been negated slightly through an experimental chip that’s been implanted in the back of his brain stem. 

There’s more of course. Specific incidences, testimonials, expert opinions on how it all worked and amateur guesses on how it all manifested. But he isn’t worried about that; hasn’t bothered to read them since it became apparent that no one knew what they were talking about.

Still. There’s a show to be put on and part of that is making sure his target doesn’t realize that he’s already read this confidential file.

He flips back to the beginning and takes note of the red fonts stamped all across the front with words like dangerous and harmful. He looks over at his target. One General Cain L. Beckett. A stout, but wide-shouldered man, with eyes that shone with something just chaotic enough to make his name justifiable. But despite all Hannibal’s strife with the man he’s also the last hurdle he has to jump over to get what he wants, so he sets the file down and smiles.

“So, what makes you think he’s dangerous?” He must’ve let that pesky, skeptical, left eyebrow raise, because Beckett responds with a barking laugh. 

“What makes you think that he isn’t? That man,” he jabs a finger into Peck’s file, “can make people do whatever he wants them to with just a few words. We had a coupe of good men start a fist fight in the middle of the hallway last week. They were all perfectly content and normal until that freak there spoke to them.” Beckett leans forward, “He’s dangerous. Trust me. That man you’re reading about just wants to cause chaos.” 

“He doesn’t look chaotic,” Hannibal replies easily, taking a moment to glance down at the easygoing smile in the picture.

Beckett snorts and Hannibal forces himself to keep the scowl off his face. The last hurdle, he reminds himself, and smiles innocently instead. 

“Is there something I’m not aware of General?”

“He sold us out,” Beckett begins, almost before Hannibal’s done speaking. “Right before he was discovered the base he was occupying fell under attack. That location was secure colonel, at least until Peck here got into the heads of every commanding officer around. He was feeding confidential information to our enemies for months, before he was caught.”

Hannibal frowns, taking this new information into account and trying to file it away with what he already knows. It doesn’t fit. Doesn’t feel right. He looks down at the file again, picking it up to examine the picture more closely. 

Peck doesn’t look like a bad man. Cocky perhaps. What with the suave, easy-going body language, and the smile that played across his face. But not anything like an enemy operative. 

Hannibal knows people. Knows bad people. He doesn’t think that Peck is one. 

“It does say,” he says at last, flicking to the correct page, “that Peck can’t control anyone for longer than thirty-minutes. Wouldn’t that make what you’re saying rather difficult? Why wouldn’t the officers warn each other? Or take action sooner?” 

Beckett scoffs, “Those are  _ his  _ words. Maybe a few others, but we have testimonials from people who were under his control for  _ days.  _ They were only freed after he was taken into custody.”

Hannibal feels his hands clench around his papers, “Right.” 

“That’s, of course, when we found out about the information he was selling. Without his control his victims came forward immediately. Of course, they were compensated for their trauma and cooperation.” 

Hannibal bites his tongue in order to prevent himself from snarking on about paid witnesses and fair trials and did anybody bother to look into those people that came forward? Or had they all just let them see a perfectly good scapegoat and take advantage of that. 

Instead he takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he needs to be on Beckett’s good side for this to work, and asks, “ And this chip that you put in his brain? How does it work?”

Beckett smiles wolfishly, all teeth and no mercy, “Neat isn’t it? After about five minutes of sweet talk the chip activates and successfully cripples him. Eventually he just stopped trying. Some days he just stops talking, too afraid of slipping up, it’s wonderful.”

Like Pavola’s dog, Hannibal thinks sadly. 

Beckett is still talking. Going on about operations and devices and militarization and Hannibal straightens. Right. Obviously the good general has nothing of use to offer him and he really should be continuing on with his plans. After all, he has two plane tickets for a flight out of here that leaves in just a few hours and he’d hate to miss it.

“Well,” he says loudly, cutting off Beckett shamelessly, “I think I’ve gathered enough background information. If I could just speak to Lieutenant Peck—“

“Former Lieutenant,” Beckett corrects with a scowl.

Hannibal doesn’t bother to correct himself, “If I could just speak to Lieutenant Peck myself for a few moments then I’ll be able to get out of your hair and report back to base about what a wonderful job you’re doing of keeping us safe from these national threats.” 

Beckett’s chest puffs out in pride, animosity disappearing with the praise, “Of course, right this way.” 

Hannibal follows him back through a locked door and down a slew of hallways, before arriving at a small room at the back of the facility. 

“Just have a seat here,” Beckett tells him, opening one last door “We’ll bring him in shortly.”

“Right,” Hannibal goes to enter, only stopping to put a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder as he tries to enter the room alongside him. “I’d like to handle this on my own if you don’t mind.”

“ _ Alone? _ ” Beckett sputters, all five feet six inches of him trembling as Hannibal lets the smallest of smirks play across his lips. “Do you have any idea what he could do to you alone?”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, “I was under the impression that you’d made Peck safe to be around. Wasn’t that your job? Or do you doubt your skills in this area?”

Beckett splutters, words trying to make their way into the air to no avail. Hannibal just smiles innocently at him. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Hannibal continues, patting the other man’s arm comfortingly. “It’d be hard for anyone to contain such a man, the fact that you’ve even begun to is—“

“Enough,” Beckett pulls his arm out of Hannibal’s grasp and scowls. “I’ll bring him in and you’ll see what a menace he is and then you’ll be begging me to come in here with you. Just you wait.” 

He storms off, the door slamming behind him.

Hannibal sighs, runs a hand down his face, and slides into a nearby chair. He throws his files down onto the table in front of him and leans back. He scans the room out of habit. Two exits. The one behind him and the door across from him. One table. Two chairs. One of which he’s occupying. The walls are painfully white and the room itself is cold. Hardly the type environment he would’ve chosen for such a delicate situation, but he’s done more with less. He finishes his scan by eying the door on the other side of the room carefully. 

He’s planned all this out. Knows exactly what he’s going to say to hook Peck and get him to agree to what he wants, but first he has to make sure that all his guesses about the boy’s character are correct. That requires meeting him in person, which required jumping through all the right hoops until he got to this very last one.

All he needs now is for Peck to come through that door and the game will really begin. As if on queue the door slides open with an alarming clang, but the boy that’s dragged into the room looks nothing like the man that’s smiling in Hannibal’s files. 

He’s sullener, sharper, with deep blue bruising under his eyes. A look that’s aided by his pale skin and the stark white scrubs that hang off his form. He isn’t smiling. His hair is a mess, sticking up and shaved too close all at once. Scruff hangs around his chin. More than anything he looks tired in ways Hannibal can’t even begin to articulate. He’s shoved down unceremoniously into the seat across from Hannibal, but never once makes eye contact with him. Choosing instead to focus on his hands as they’re cuffed to the tabletop.

The guards hover nearby after finishing, which just won’t do.

“If you wouldn’t mind leaving us alone for a moment gentleman, I’d like to have a talk here with Lieutenant Peck.” Hesitation and Hannibal scowls at them. “That wasn’t a suggestion, that was an order.”

They leave, and Hannibal pretends not to notice the way that Peck’s whole body relaxes.

“Lieutenant Peck,” Hannibal begins, never one for silences, “do you know why I’m here?”

Peck shrugs.

“I’m here, because rumor has it you can control minds.”

Peck shrugs.

Hannibal sighs, “Well can you?”

Peck shakes his head. Hannibal raises his eyebrows.

“Really? Because here it says that you can control—”

“Nudge,” Peck interrupts, voice almost monotonous, like this isn’t so much an argument as it is an old habit. “Not control, nudge.”

Hannibal pushes the file aside and leans forward, “Explain.”

The younger man seems startled by the invitation to elaborate. He still won’t look directly at Hannibal, but he’s talking now which is better than nothing.

“It’s not controlling, not exactly. It’s more like a uh…suggestion. I put the thought there and sometimes they follow it, but they can’t be strong willed and it’s not permanent. It wears off.”

“I see, so you, through these suggestions, are able to get what you want.”

Peck shrugs, “Sometimes.”

“It says here that you were accused of selling information to the enemy. That this information led to the attack and deaths of members of your base. Did you ever—”

“NO!” The shout of anger is unexpected, a stark difference from the earlier monotonous answers. Peck shoots up out of his seat, chains rattling and chair screeching. Then his actions seem to catch up to his brain and the kid pales dramatically. “Sorry,” he stammers quickly. “Sorry.” He continues to stand, his seat too far away to sit back down. Hannibal doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Not yet. Instead he waits. After a few moments Peck continues, “I didn’t do anything. I would  _ never  _ do anything. That isn’t, it’s not, it’s  _ wrong _ . People  _ died. _ ” 

There’s such a note of distress on those last words that Hannibal can’t help but wonder how often this young boy had tried to convince someone of his innocence to no avail. It makes his insides twist. 

Standing, and pretending not to notice Peck’s flinch, he walks around him and pushes the chair back in. Then returning to his own seat he proceeds to tear out the false accusations in Peck’s file and shove them into his pocket for later disposal.

“Sir?” He looks up to see Peck sitting back down in his chair. His eyes tired and shoulders slouched. Hannibal suspects that if his hands weren’t chained to the table, they’d be running down his face and through his hair. “Why are you here?”

He says it like a plea and Hannibal decides then that it’s time to speed up his plan. The sooner he can leave with this boy the better.

“I’m putting a team together,” he states directly. “I want you on it.”

The kid’s face takes on such an expression of shock that Hannibal almost wishes he’d brought a camera.

“Me?” He splutters, “but I can’t, I’m not, I’m  _ dangerous _ .”

Hannibal frowns at that, “That’s just the thing son, I don’t think that you are. I think that you got a bit in over your head and landed yourself in a ton of trouble, but I don’t think that you’re dangerous.”

“But I  _ am, _ ” he insists.

Hannibal leans forward, “Did you believe that before or after you got locked up and cut open?”

The Letunient flinches backwards, then stares down at his hands.

“Son,” Hannibal continues quietly. “I don’t think you’re dangerous.”

“Then what am I?”

“I think you’re scared.”

Another expression that would’ve been nice to get on camera as his head shoots up. Hannibal continues.

“I think that you’re scared that you’re never going to get out of here and I don’t think that your stay so far has been very pleasant. Am I wrong?”

Peck doesn’t say anything for a long moment and then asks, “Why do you want me on your team?”

“Because you’re good at what you do.”

Peck laughs, it’s ugly, sharp, painful. “Well I hate to break it to you Colonel, but I can’t do it anymore. They got inside my head quite literally and tore it all out I’m afraid.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hannibal snaps, perhaps a bit more sharply than needed. “I read your file Peck, every page of it, not just the scientists’ words, but _your_ _words_. You said so yourself that you can’t nudge brains for longer than a half an hour. You know what that tells me? That tells me that any job that took you longer than that was purely you. No powers. No nudging. Just you.”

“You read my say on the matter?” Despite himself Hannibal blinks, that was a strange thing to focus on.

“Yes.”

“And you believe me?” The boy looks bewildered, eyes wide and staring into Hannibal’s. 

“Yes.”

Hannibal watches as the younger man processes this information. He leans back, his hands shaking, shock emanating from him. A flash of anger shoots through Hannibal. Had no one believed the boy before? Had no one bothered to listen to his side of the story? He thinks of Beckett’s hesitation, of his anger and certainty of Peck’s character, of the guard’s roughness and scorn, and decides that no one probably had. Something dangerous boils inside him, he squashes it and focuses. Later, there will be time for that anger later. 

“Templeton,” he continues, leaning forward, catching the man’s eye. He isn’t 100% sure when Peck became Templeton, but this seems like as good a time as any to get familiar. “Will you come with me? I can get you out of here, all you have to do is say yes.”

“And if I say no?”

“I don’t think you will, but son, this is your choice. I’m not going to make you do anything.”

A beat of silence and then resolutely, “How do I get out?”

Hannibal smiles and pulls out a form, “I just need you to sign here and just like that you’re my responsibility, but truth be told, I’m not much for babysitting. The stories my sister could tell you; so really that’s just for the higher ups.”

Templeton takes the paper, reads over it, eyes scanning every line meticulously. He pauses and frowns at a line. Turning the paper back around, so Hannibal can see it, he jabs his finger into the parchment.

“This part,” he says harshly. “I want it gone and I’ll come.”

Hannibal looks at the line, it’s the one that talks about regular health checks and such, he gives the younger boy a look, but doesn’t ask for an explanation. Instead filing the information away for later when he’s sure it will undeniably come up, no doubt the least convenient time.

“Done.” He says instead. “Pack your bags and get ready.”

He signals for the guards, who come in far too quickly for someone who hadn’t been eavesdropping. They snatch Templeton away and glare at Hannibal. Hannibal doesn’t care, just glares right back until all three are gone. Leaving him alone to make his way back to Beckett’s office.

After that it’s a simple matter of asking for a typewriter and retyping the agreement onto a fresh sheet of official military paper. The paper’s blank except for the small signature at the bottom. The generals should really pay more attention to what they’re signing, but then again, if they started doing that Hannibal would have to work a lot harder to get what he wanted.

After a brief argument with Beckett, including one angry phone call to the general who had signed the paper—who of course states that he had indeed signed it, because no one wants to be embarrassed by admitting they’d been fooled—the general shoves all of Templeton’s medical files into his hands menacingly.

“Don’t come crying to me when he stabs you in the back,” Beckett seethes, then stalks away. Pathetic. No wonder he got stationed out here in the middle of nowhere, the man is a nightmare.

With that the only thing left to do is wait for the Lieutenant. Hannibal settles down on a bench outside the building and watches as time ticks by. He’s about to get up and go yell at Beckett some more about delaying direct orders when the young man in question comes stumbling through the doors in a grubby set of fatigues. While dirty, and a tad too big, it’s a much better look for him then the stark white scrubs he’d been wearing before. He doesn’t have any cases.

Hannibal frowns, “You gonna bring anything with you?”

“Don’t have anything to bring,” Templeton tells him with a shrug.

Hannibal scowls, looks at the guards, “Get those cuffs off him, we’ll be leaving now.”

The cuffs are removed and Hannibal hands him the release form.

Templeton looks it over one last time and signs, then Hannibal signs, and it’s over. Beside him, Templeton raises an eyebrow.

“Your name is actually John Smith?”

“Pretty generic isn’it? Parents couldn’t afford a fancy name like Templeton, we had to get hand-me downs instead.”

Templeton smiles and Hannibal cheers silently to himself as they make their way to his waiting car. They’ll be issues he’s sure, but he got what he came for. Has helped who he came here to help and the disbelieving smile that continues to stretch wider and wider across Templeton Peck’s face is more than enough payment for what’s come. Hannibal gets into the driver’s seat, watches as newly instated Lieutenant Templeton Peck gets into the passenger seat, still smiling. Hannibal smiles back, he does love it when a plan comes together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Face’s power isn’t quite mind control, more along the lines of a Jedi mind trick. He doesn’t have complete control always and it can sputter out, but of course none of that matters now, because he can’t do anything. Or can he? That being said!
> 
>  **There will be a part two!!**  
>  The other part is already written as originally I was going to have this all be one long story, but I decided splitting it up made more sense as I’m switching to have Face narrate so stay tuned for more!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a secret, but secrets don’t always stay buried

It’s a secret, that’s what Hannibal had told Face when he’d first taken him under his wing. Not classified, but a secret. A secret that Hannibal would keep silent and a secret only Face could decide when to share. No one else.

So, he kept it secret. Kept it close. Let the years roll by without speaking a word of it to anyone, even as the team grew.

Besides, he justified, there wasn’t much point in sharing. It wasn’t like he could do anything anymore, not without hurting, and despite what everyone thought about the members of Hannibal’s A-Team they didn’t actually have a death wish. 

Of course there was the alternative. Hannibal had offered to find a surgeon the moment they’d been alone. Someone who could try and take out whatever had been put into his head. If Face had been, and was, a stronger man he might’ve said yes. Might’ve jumped at the chance to be whole again. But the thought of having someone else cut him up and explore while he lay helpless and unconscious was enough to send him into a panicked stuttering of words that eventually formed a no. Neither one of them ever brought it up again. So Face made do. 

He learned to con without any sort of power. Learned what tones brought pain and what ones didn’t. He coped and he was almost okay with that piece of him that was missing. Never to be used again.

Then the helicopter went down, and it was just him and Murdock and two enemy soldiers. They’d been forced to their knees and then the arguing had started. An argument that was still ongoing and still terrifying. 

The soldiers are shouting in Vietnamese and Face doesn’t know what they’re saying, but judging by the way Murdock’s face keeps falling in and out of fear he’s willing to bet that it’s nothing good.

There are options of course. None of them good and most of them ending up with one of them dead, but better him than Murdock. 

He takes a deep breath and makes a choice. Turning to place a hand on Murdock’s shoulder, and ignoring the way the pilot jumps, he whispers, “I need you to trust me.”

Murdock gives him a strange look, “I already trust you.”

Which is nice. Face hopes that it holds.

Shakily he stands, causing the men to stop fighting and aim their guns at him. 

Face doesn’t know a lot of phrases in Vietnamese, mostly stop, put your guns down, and vulgarity, but he squares his shoulders anyway and makes it work.

“D ặt súng xuống,” he commands carefully, to his left Murdock winces and the Vietnamese men give him a strange look. He scowls, oh come on it hadn’t been  _ that  _ bad. He could do this in English, but it wouldn’t have the same effect. He’d need more power and that would take too long. Time isn’t on their side right now, at the very least, it most definitely isn’t on  _ his _ side now that he’s started.

He has what five minutes, maybe ten, to make this work, before the failsafe in his head kicks in and puts him out of commission. He’s run cons in less time than that, he can make this work.

“ D ặt súng xuống,” he repeats, stronger this time, putting power into the words. A power he hasn’t used in so long and it feels…it feels…it feels nice. Natural. Good. It was like he’d found something he’d been missing for years.

The guns lower slightly, the soldiers giving him an almost glassy eyed look, but their tense, unsure, but Face is close. He can see it in all the same ways he can tell when a target is about to let him steal a whole jeep out from under them. All it will take is one last push and it’ll be over. 

“ D ặt súng xuống,” and there’s the power, flowing, pouring out of his lips and into their minds. The guns drop.

Murdock lets out a surprised yelp. 

“Murdock,” Face says, but doesn’t let his eyes leave the enemy. “Stand up.”

He worries that perhaps he’s still got just a bit too much power in his words, because the pilot struggles to his feet instantly despite the nasty gash in his leg. Can he pull the power out of his voice and still be in the Vietnamese men’s head? He doesn’t know. He’s never tried before and he can’t risk it now. He hopes Murdock will forgive him later. 

“Murdock how do you say sleep in Vietnames?”

“Ngủ,” Murdock replies instantly, sounding confused by his reply. 

It only takes Face repeating the word twice for the men to fall like puppets and crash into the ground. He turns to look as Murdock gasps and jumps backwards at the movement. Bad leg buckling under him slightly and his eyes swivel to stare at Face in shock. Face can’t blame him. He takes a step forward.

“Murdock I can explain, just—” A sharp pain shooting through his head and behind his eyes. Someone’s screaming.  _ He’s screaming. _ Grabbing at his head and clawing at his hair. He’d forgotten how much this hurt, how much it killed. How it drove away the honey like feeling from seconds before and replaced it with something monstrous. Something deadly.

“Face,” someone is saying frantically. “Face what’s wrong? What do I do? How can I help? Face please?”

He can’t respond. He can’t think. He can’t even open his eyes. Someone’s lifting him up by his armpits (when had he ended up on the ground?) and dragging him away. Murdock, he remembers. Murdock’s still here.

Murdock hadn't run. Murdock hadn't left. Why hadn’t he left? He should’ve left.

“I’ve got you,” Murdock whispers, breathing heavily and shakily. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

Face doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he takes those words and wraps his heart in them anyway, before falling into the painless bliss of unconsciousness.

\---

He wakes up to someone stabbing him.

“ _ Don’t touch me, _ ” he commands, and the hand is gone in an instant, forced away by honey smooth words. Face shouldn’t be doing this, he’s going to hurt again, but he doesn’t want to be touched and they don’t listen if he speaks normally. “No one touch me.”

Pain in his skull. Screaming. Darkness.

\--

There's something in his mouth when he wakes again. Something unnatural and painful. They'd done something, made it so he finally can't talk at all. All those threats that Beckett had been vying to make a reality for months had finally come true. 

Frantically he brings his hands up to remove whatever it is that's obstructing his mouth. He hadn't been able to avoid being chipped and crippled like a dog, but maybe, just maybe, he can rip all this away before it's too late. 

Hands catch his. Hold them down. Tell him don't and throw around words like unsafe and hurt you. He can't breathe, he can’t speak, and no one seems to care. 

Distantly he can hear a machine begin beeping wildly and an alarm blaring, but all he wants is to be able to speak again. All he wants is to not hurt anymore. He won't try anything again, just let him move. Just let him speak.

He’s scared. 

Someone's yelling now, a distant panic that barely reaches Face's ears. A pinch in his arm and he screams around the obstruction in his mouth. Trying desperately to get a hold on the situation. He can't fall asleep here. It's dangerous. He can't. 

He does. 

\---

When he wakes a third time his mouth is empty and tastes like sandpaper. There's a soft beeping and sheets that feel too soft. He opens his mouth to speak and a hand covers it. The touch is soft, but the beeping quickens anyway. 

"Face, calm down it's just me." 

And Face knows that voice. He knows he knows it, but for some reason his eyes won't focus and his brain won't remember. 

"Face," the voice repeats when the beeping doesn't slow. "I'm going to lift up my hand, okay? But you can't nudge me, got it? If you do we're going to have to start this process all over again." That should sound like a threat and Face should escape the moment the hand is gone, but something instinctual keeps him grounded. Keeps him still. The beeping slows and the hand pulls away. 

Face doesn't move. Just lays there and takes deep breaths, as useless as a deer in headlights. 

"Lieutenant," the voice says. "Face," it tries again when there's no answer. " _ Templeton."  _

His name snatches Face out his stupor and he swivels his head around until he's staring into a pair of worried blue eyes. Hannibal's eyes. 

Face blinks, that had been unexpected. 

"Hannibal?" His voice is barely a whisper and it scratches against his throat. He coughs and a glass of water is forced into his hands. 

"Drink," Hannibal commands and Face does so. Looking at his CO over the rim.

He looks tired, dark circles starting to appear under his eyes, his face a tad paler than it should be. There's also this look in his eyes, a fear that Face has seen too many times before. 

Face lowers the glass, wraps his hands around it, and stares into the water like it holds answers. "You're sending me back aren't you." He doesn’t even bother making it a question. 

"What?!" Hannibal has the nerve to sound shocked. Like he didn't know that Face was going to guess his plans. Like Face hadn’t spent the last three years learning how to read the man like a book in preparation for this very moment. Like he doesn’t have three seperate go bags hidden around the compound so he can escape when he needs to. 

"My secrets out," Face continues and is horrified when he realizes that his vision is starting to blur. He can't cry now. If he cries they’ve won. He scrubs his arm against his eyes and takes a shaky breath. "No use keeping me around when I've caused such a mess." He hesitates then adds, "Can I at least say goodbye to the guys before I go?" 

"What are you--? Hannibal still looks wildly confused and Face wants to commend his acting job. If this whole Colonel thing doesn't work out maybe John Smith could make it as an actor? "Face I'm not sending you back." 

Face tenses. Now that’s just cruel. The least he could do was be honest.

"Face," Hanninal says again, "Temp, I'm not sending you back. I forged documents and broke maybe three separate laws to get you here, I can't just undo all that." 

And oh, that makes more sense. It always came down to the paperwork didn't it? Heaven knows that Face had used paperwork to pull at least a dozen cons in his lifetime. He frowns down at his water, not nearly as comforted by that thought as he wants to be. 

"No," Hannibal is saying, "Whatever it is you're thinking you're wrong."

Face's head shoots up at that. Hannibal is leaning forward now, just a tad too close into Face’s personal space and he winces backwards. Hannibal leans back too, he looks tired again, looks older, he runs a hand over his face. 

"Temp, you aren't going back and it's not because of paperwork and it's not because of politics. It's because of you." 

"Me?" Face whispers hoarsely and he can't figure out how he could possibly be worth saving. How he could possibly be worth all this trouble? An orphan without a single honest penny to his name. No one wanted him before, why would someone want him now? 

"Temp,” Hannibal continues, ripping Face out of his thoughts, “you're a good man. I think you knew that once. No, I  _ know _ you thought that once, before prison, before Cain Beckett." Face winces at the name. "I just want you to realize that again. You saved Murdock's life last week, despite the risks to your own health, despite your shortcomings, you saved his life. That means something.”

Murdock? Why had--Face's eyes widen, his heart monitor beeps wildly again. "Murdock! Hannibal, we got shot down there was nothing else I could do! He was hurt and there were enemy soldiers and where is he?" 

Face has half his body swinging off the bed, cup of water toppling to the floor with a clash, before Hannibal manages to stop him. 

"Calm down, that happened a week ago. It’s practically old news,” the older man smiles, “and don’t worry Murdock is fine. You did good kid, like I said you saved his life and in turn he saved yours." 

Face frowns, “Saved me?" Because that’s easier than trying to unravel the bit where the crash was a week ago. 

Hannibal nods, "Dragged you here with only one good leg between you. I've never seen a man look so confused and so panicked all at once. Lucky for us our favorite pilot is already a bit...odd otherwise we might've had a harder time explaining away what happened." 

"Explaining away?"

“He came into camp claiming you had super powers,” Hannibal starts to laugh, but cuts off when Face pales. “Templeton, they don’t know and they won’t know. No one believed him, we made sure, we kept it secret. You’re safe.”

And that should be comforting, but Face can’t breathe again. No one can find out, if they find out he goes back. He can’t go back and Murdock...Murdock...

“Murdock knows,” Face gasps. “Murdock saw, he might be crazy, but he’s not  _ dumb _ .”

“Face, Murdock doesn’t care.”

Doesn’t care? Doesn’t care! How can someone not care? And he doesn’t mean to say it outloud, but he must’ve because Hannibal’s voice is going soft again as he speaks.

“Temp, as far as Murdock is concerned you’ve nestled yourself right in between the likes of Superman and Spider-Man. He doesn’t care what you can do or where you’ve been. I think he barely cares about where you’re going, what he cares about is you.” 

“Superman?” Face echoes, he looks around eyes meeting his own in a mirror on the wall. He looks tired, dazed, hurt. Face tries to think of another universe where maybe he’d never gotten caught. Where he sprung around the battlefield sweet talking people out of death and into surrender. He tries to think of another universe where he ended up as a hero instead of a prisoner. He can’t.

Something wet hits his bare arms and he knows he should be stronger than this. Knows that him crying is letting them win. That it’s showing that they still have control of him, but he’s just so tired. 

Tired of hurting. Tired of being scared. Tired of trying to understand what everyone wants from him. 

“Tempelton,” Hannibal says softly, hands folded neatly on the side of the bed. “It’s okay to cry.”

He cries harder. Years of pain and fear boiling over and spilling out of his eyes uncontrollably. 

Something grabs him and pulls him close and Face stiffens until his nose makes contact with a shoulder that smells like dirt and cigars. Has Hannibal ever hugged someone before? He can’t remember. He thinks later he’ll be horrified by all of this, but at this moment he doesn’t care. At this moment he’s content to accept the comfort and the shoulder to cry on. 

Is content to let Hannibal tell him things like ‘it’ll be okay’ and ‘you did good,’ until the weight in his heart and on his shoulders disappears and he falls back into darkness. 

—-

He wakes up not to Hannibal like he expects, but to a face inches from his.

“What in the—?!” He flinches backwards. Heart racing violently until the face focuses. “Murdock!” 

“Oh good you’re awake!” Murdock beams happily, leaning back, either oblivious to Face’s moment of panic or choosing to be. “See Hannibal left me in charge, because he had to go talk logistics. However I was given strict instructions that I couldn’t wake you up directly, even though I tried real hard to argue that a week's rest is probably rest enough, but it was all blah blah recovery, blah blah traumatic incident, like I hadn’t had those before! Anyway, since yelling out was out, I decided I would just send my thoughts for you to read instead! I broadcasted the loudest alarm I had onto all frequencies!” Murdock taps his head, “Looks like it worked!” 

Face stares, tries to unravel the important information out of Murdock’s sentences and decides to clarify, “Murdock, I can’t read minds.” 

“Right,” Murdock winks, smile still perfectly intact. “That’s what we’re telling everyone, remember? Don’t worry Hannibal explained everything to me. Sort of? I’m still a bit fuzzy on the details, but I think that may be me, well that and he’s withholding information.”

“No, Murdock,” Face repeats, “really no mind reading.” 

The pilot droops, “Well then how am I supposed to tell you all the new secret gossip? Whisper it to you?”

“Yes?” Face tries, but Murdock doesn’t look satisfied. 

He huffs and crosses his arms, falling back into one of the chairs by Face’s bed. 

“Well then what  _ can _ you do?” It’s not a mean question, if anything it’s just confused, but the heart monitor’s beeping quickens anyway.

Murdock frowns at it. Eyes narrowing in one of those rare moments of focus and Face knows that he needs to answer. He knows that he needs to say something to deviate Murdock’s attention away, but can’t figure out what it is that Murdock wants to hear. 

Could never figure out what they wanted to hear. They never wanted to hear the truth that was for sure. 

“Face?” And oh gee now he looks concerned. Concerned and worried and worried people kept asking questions. 

“I thought Hannibal explained everything,” he tries, but Murdock just shrugs.

“Well sure, the Bossman explained the basics, but like I said he was a bit vague on the details. He kept saying that it was your secret to tell and that I’d have to ask you. So here I am, asking you.”

The pilot stops, waits quietly, patiently for an answer, but Face doesn’t have one. Can’t think of what to say. Of how to possibly explain the rollercoaster of his life. Luckily for him Murdock has never been good with silences. 

“You scared me you know.”

“What?” The beeping picks up again as Face tries desperately to fit this new piece of information into his life. 

Murdock wasn’t supposed to be scared of him. Hannibal had told him that the pilot was fine, that everything was fine, but the older man must’ve read the room wrong. It wouldn’t have been the first time and besides, Face should’ve known better. People were always scared of him. Didn’t trust him. That’s why he didn’t tell people, why he kept things secret, and—and Murdock was still talking. 

“What?” He asks, his voice sounding tired even to his own ears.

Murdock’s frown deepens, brown eyes burrowing into Face’s, as he leans forward. “You scared me. Not because of whatever it is that you can do, but because of what happened after. You saved me and you were fine for a moment and then you just weren’t. You were screaming and in pain and there wasn’t anything I could do anything, heck, I didn’t even know what was going on. You just kept on screaming and it was so  _ loud  _ and then you fainted and it was just quiet _.  _ That’s what scared me. I thought that you had saved me, but not yourself and it was  _ terrifying. _ ”

Face blinks, “You were scared for me?” 

“Of course. What did you think I meant? That I was scared  _ of you?”  _ Murdock starts to laugh, only to stop as he looks at Face. “Face…” 

And Face knows where this is going to go. It’s going to be pity and hurt looks and hurt words and he steels himself against it, but Murdock is always ready to surprise him and now is no different.

“Do you wanna pet Billy?” He says instead and Face looks over to where Murdock has started to pet air. His hand gracefully arcing along nothing. “He’s awfully good at calming people down. I keep telling the doctors here that he’d make a great therapy dog but they never seem to believe me.” 

Face smiles, “Maybe next time.” 

Murdock shrugs, hand continuing to pet Billy, “You don’t have to tell me. Your power I mean. It’s okay if you want it to stay a secret. Everyone’s got secrets.”

“Even you?” Face deflects and Murdock’s hand pauses for just a moment, before he continues.

“Yeah even me, so it’s okay if you want to keep some too. I won’t mind, but if you do want to talk I’m here to listen.”

And now Face has to answer again, has to either tell Murdock no or give him an explanation. He breathes in and decides now is as good a time as any. 

“I can nudge minds,” he explains, choosing to look at his hands, because that’s easier than watching expressions, “not control and definitely not read, just nudge. It’s like a suggestion, a hypnosis that sometimes people follow and sometimes people ignore. They can’t be sure of themselves, can’t already have a sure plan, otherwise it won’t catch. But I don’t do it anymore, unless there’s no other options.” 

“Because it hurts?” 

“It didn’t use to,” Face tells him slowly, trying to forget those days that were no longer possible. “But there...there were people.” Not bad people. Not at first. Just friends he wanted to help, who then told the wrong people. Then came the bad people, then came Cain Beckett. Face let the memories fall away, determined not to stay and watch them. “I tried to help, but well I was caught and, so yeah, now it hurts.” He wants to sound nonchalant, unphased, untouched, but his voice hitches at all the wrong times and he flinches. Murdock doesn’t mention it.

Instead, he just keeps petting Billy and speaks easily, “You went to Mexico. Nothing to be ashamed of there.” 

Face blinks, staring over at Murdock, “Mexico…? What no, Murdock, the first time I went to Mexico was when I met  _ you _ .” 

“Not  _ my  _ Mexico,” Murdock replies like he’s explaining a concept to a toddler “Your own Mexico.”

Face thinks back, remembers when they’d first abducted the pilot into their team. Remembers how nervous he’d been. The way he’d skidded along the outskirts, unsure and uncomfortable, until there was trust. Then not only did Murdock make himself at home in their little quartet, but also made sure Billy, Lefty, and a thousand other personalities moved on in too.

Then remembers when he first met Hannibal. Remembers how the man had burst into a tiny little prison with only one prisoner and with one goal in mind. How his voice had been soft amidst guards that talked too loud and shoved too hard. He remembers how he couldn’t sleep during those nights that followed his escape, unwilling to close his eyes and let this new dream end. He compares it to how he feels now. A little scared, but never happier, and now, almost never safer. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel as safe as he did before, but this? This is close. 

Hannibal had swept into his life and claimed him as his own and then he’d barged into Mexico and claimed BA and Murdock too. 

“Yeah Mexico,” he agrees, at last. “I went to Mexico.” 

Murdock forgoes petting Billy to pat Face’s knee comfortingly, “But you got out. That’s the important thing to remember. That you’re not there anymore. You spend too much time wondering when you’re gonna go back and the next thing you know all those little nasties come out of the walls and take ya hostage. I think that sometimes it’s a bit harder to sweet talk them away than it is the Vietnamese.” 

Face blinks, distantly wanting to know how Murdock learned to go from insane to wise and back again fast enough to give even the best of men whiplash, but Murdock’s already rambling forward. Moving on like he didn’t just spew out life advice moments before. 

“So, I think it’d be best if I caught you up on everything you missed while you were out, and since apparently I can’t just broadcast it into your mind like I would’ve liked we’re gonna have to do this the hard way. I’ll start, of course, with day one. Day one is titled, Hannibal and I convince BA that I’m just as crazy as I am so he doesn’t find out your secret. Honestly, it didn’t even take all that long, and I’m a bit offended by that. I thought for sure he’d trust me a bit more, but well, old dog and new tricks, and you were unconscious and everyone was just a tad freaked out so that might’ve helped I suppose. Day two, Hannibal yelled at some nurses and then he yelled at some higher ups and I don’t know what about, but I think that everyone’s a little more scared of him now. Day three—“

“Murdock,” a voice rumbles from the doorway, cutting into the conversation. Face looks over to see Hannibal with BA scowling at his side. “I, and at least three nurses, told you not to wake him up. He’s recovering.” 

“I didn’t,” Murdock insists, train of thought successfully derailed and lost. “It was my mind, I was thinking too loud.”

“Ain’t no mind in there for you to think with,” BA scowls, then slams a tray of food onto Face’s lap. “Nurse told me to make you eat that and I don’t want to disappoint her so you better make sure you chew fast.”

“Now BA, be nice,” Hannibal scolds, but there’s a smile on his face as he lights a cigar and places it between his lips. “Did you and Murdock have a good talk?”

“Yeah,” Face tells him, “I think we did.” Murdock gives him a thumbs up, other hand sneaking towards Face’s plate of food.

BA smacks it away, “Stop it fool, that ain’t for you.”

Murdock scowls, “I can have some if I wants to. You ain’t the king of the food.”

“The nurse asked me to deliver it, that makes it my responsibility.”

“Well it’s been delivered, so now it’s no longer your responsibility, ya mudsucker.” 

BA scowls, swinging for Murdock’s head, but the taller man just ducks gracefully, grabs a piece of toast off Face’s plate, and darts to the corner of the room. Shoving the contraband into his mouth. 

“It’s fine BA,” Face intervenes, when it looks like the larger man is going to get violent. “It’s just a piece of toast, besides I got another one right here.”

BA doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t say anything, content to sink into a chair with a frown. Murdock edges his way back to the bed, falling back into his chair, as Hannibal takes the last one. 

They talk for a moment until the conversation causes BA to growl and Murdock to laugh as Hannibal smiles around his cigar, and Face? Face lays back in his bed, chewing away on terrible mashed potatoes and slightly burnt toast. Usually he’d complain, but today he doesn’t care, because the funny thing is that right now he wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels content, happy, and almost safe. For the first time in a long time he feels like he’s in control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun fact, BA still doesn’t know about Face??? I kept trying to figure out how to get him into the room fast enough for him to find out, but I couldn’t? It required there to be another moment where Face explained everything and it wasn’t working, so I may end up writing that bit later? I’m not sure yet
> 
> Anyways that’s the end of the story for now! I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Also if you’ve got an A-Team story you wanna see feel free to let me know in the comments below, I’ve hit just a bit of a block and am looking for prompts!


End file.
